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Steven Strauss knows that when it comes to trees, some people will go to extremes. "They want their trees to be wild," says the Oregon State University professor. "Environmental activists may not be ready to go to war over a soybean, but the tree is something different."

So they're upset by Strauss' attempts to reengineer the forest, to tinker with trees at their deepest biological level. For the past three years, Strauss has overseen an experiment that began when he inserted a single mutation in each of hundreds of poplar seedlings. Once planted and grown, most of these young trees looked entirely normal. But a few seemed to be straight out of Dr. Seuss. There were dwarf trees, branchless trees, trees that twisted in elaborate spirals, and trees that had so little lignin - the chemical that makes them rigid - that they were only a few steps away from pure pulp. Because each characteristic resulted from a single mutation, Strauss was able to link a specific gene to every trait. In essence, he created the first user's guide to arboreal DNA.

Many environmentalists, of course, detest the idea of mutant trees. Members of radical groups have chopped down Strauss' trees and, in 2001, firebombed the laboratory of his research collaborator, Toby Bradshaw of the University of Washington. The attack caused more than $1 million in damage. Bradshaw was unharmed but has since quit forestry. That leaves Strauss as one of the only researchers working openly in this specialty.

The tree has been among the last holdouts in the effort to crack the genetic code of the earth's major species. Trees take decades to mature, requiring large plots of land for growth and systematic study. They are also notoriously difficult to breed and propagate, which explains why so few plant biologists choose to specialize in the field. All of which helps explain why tree genomics is at least a decade behind the rest of biotechnology and is just now experiencing the first rush of discovery (thanks largely to Strauss).

Over a plate of chop suey in Oregon State's main cafeteria, Strauss talks about the potential for genetically modified wood products. His mutated trees could transform the industry, he says. Dwarf trees would avoid wind stress, reducing the amount of reaction wood - unusable wind-warped timber. His branchless tree would have no disfiguring knots. A hybrid supertree would produce higher-quality lumber from fewer individual trees, reducing the amount of land needed to satisfy lumber demand. In addition, his low-lignin tree would require far fewer chemicals to break down into pulp for paper, saving money and lessening the paper industry's toxic output.

Strauss bristles at the environmentalists opposed to him. "The extremists think that, in a genetically modified future, trees would no longer represent the wild, untamed frontier. It would simply be another made-to-order industrial product," he says. "But my work doesn't point to a future of bioengineered forests." Just the opposite: With the efficiencies gained from his trees, he says, less land would need to be cultivated. Thousands of acres could be returned to wilderness. Plus, in theory, the GM trees wouldn't contaminate the natural gene pool. "How would a spiral tree ever survive in the wild?" he asks. "There's no way this DNA would pass the survival-of-the-fittest test."

Strauss has no illusions that tree huggers will buy his arguments, which makes him a little nervous as he sets out for an afternoon jog through the forest surrounding Oregon State. "I've been trying to make my peace with the idea that some people would resort to violence over a tree," he says. "It's a hard concept to accept."